


put your lights on

by nekostar



Series: better leave your lights on [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bad Dirty Talk, Canon-Typical Violence, Gratuitous Swearing, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, POV Multiple, Peeping Tom(my Hagan), Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slight feminization, Slurs, Suicidal Ideation, Toxic Friendships, Unrequited Love, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23508997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekostar/pseuds/nekostar
Summary: better leave your lights on, 'cause there's a monster livin' under my bed, whisperin' in my earTommy Hagan doesn't deserve Steve Harrington, but Billy Hargrove sure asfuckdoesn't deserve him either.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington
Series: better leave your lights on [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709008
Comments: 62
Kudos: 494





	put your lights on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obsceme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsceme/gifts).
  * Inspired by [saw your light on (honey, in the cold i stood)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655360) by [Oop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oop/pseuds/Oop). 
  * Inspired by [Little boxes (made of ticky tacky)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20735024) by [perennial_distaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennial_distaste/pseuds/perennial_distaste). 



> for sarah/obsceme/hartigays, who let me ramble in her inbox about a raunchy catholic harringrove au and then inspired me to actually write fic, when i never had before.  
> -  
> yes hi hello this is my first harringrove fic. pls enjoy. rip in pieces tommy.  
> -  
> underage tag to be safe; there's mention of characters fooling around together when they're all under 18. billy is mentioned as having hooked up with older married men while underage. this fic is generally problematic, in that they are all teenage boys in the 80s, so language and homophobia abounds. let me know if i should tag anything else.
> 
> this fic is split into 3 parts; tommy's pov, steve's pov, and then billy's pov. (unfortunately, no pov cameras are involved, for so much pov mentioning.) there's a lot of overlap and repetitive interactions, but hopefully the pov makes it different enough that it's not annoying to read.
> 
> please be warned that tommy's pov has him near-constantly using the word fag/faggot. his part is the most that deals with internalized homophobia. this ain't the precious tommy that chester portrays who loves steve and would save him from the upside down; it's definitely a darker version. (my goal is to have peeping tom(my) a trend; it's what i live for.)
> 
> steve and billy's versions have the word too, but less. 
> 
> slight feminization tag bc billy has a filthy mouth. there's sex, but it's not particularly explicit, until billy opens his mouth one scene.
> 
> this disregards season 3 completely, as we all do.

_hey now, all you sinners, put your lights on_  
_hey now, all you lovers, put your lights on_

_there's a darkness living deep in my soul_  
_i still got a purpose to serve_  
_so let your light shine, deep into my home_  
_god, don't let me lose my nerve_

**_put your lights on // santana ft. everlast // supernatural, 1999_ **

* * *

Tommy Hagan has a list of people he can fuckin' do without, and right at the top of it are Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove.

Fuck Steve. Seriously, _fuck_ Steve, that ungrateful spoiled brat, living it up in his rich daddy's mansion, pretending to be better than everyone else.

Hargrove? Promised to be so fuckin' cool and then turned _bitch,_ just like Stevie.

* * *

Tommy moves across the street from Steve when they're six, and they're best friends instantly. Steve's lonely, parents always jetting off and leaving him with a nanny, and he always has the _best_ toys. Tommy's older brother Adam is happy to ditch the two of them together to go off and do whatever it is teenagers do, so Tommy gets to play with Steve's cool toys all by himself. Calls him all sorts of nicknames, just to see him laugh. Settles on _Stevie_ the most.

Carol shows up when they're eight, and shoves herself between the two of them like she's always belonged there. Tommy thinks he might be a little in love. He sees the way that Steve looks at her, and thinks that Steve might be a little in love with her, too. Something makes Tommy's stomach twist when he watches Steve looking at Carol and then back at him.

Well, too bad, Stevie. Tommy's sick of Steve always getting everything he wants. Carol's gonna be their friend, but she's gonna be _Tommy's._

* * *

When they're fourteen, the summer about to go into high school, Steve fucks everything up, just like he always does. Fuckin' _idiot._ Thinks the rules of the world don't apply to him, can't be _normal.  
_

"I'm not a fuckin' faggot, Stevie, and neither are you," Tommy sneers, pushing Steve hard enough away that the other boy falls on his ass. Like Adam leaving wasn't enough shit to deal with; Tommy doesn't fuckin' _need_ this right now.

"I never fucking said that shit, man," Steve snaps, tears in his eyes. Always crying like a little _bitch_ when he doesn't get what he wants. _Poor little rich boy._ "I just—"

"Get yourself a fuckin' girlfriend then, man," Tommy threatens. He feels ready to throw a punch, a real one, not like the petty fistfights that he and Steve got into one summer that Carol always had to break up. "Or I _swear,_ Harrington—"

Steve asks Sherry Olsen out the next day. Steve fucks her and breaks up with her in a week. It's pretty much his whole dating cycle with girls until junior year.

He doesn't look at Tommy the same ever again.

Tommy tells himself that that's just fuckin' fine with him. He asks Carol to be his girlfriend, like he and _everyone else_ fuckin' _should,_ and that's the end of it.

* * *

Things go back to normal. _Steve_ goes back to fuckin' normal, no more faggy shit, thank God. He's got a different girl on his arm practically every week, and Tommy and the rest of the guys on the basketball team high-five him for it. This is what life is fuckin' _about;_ sports and partying and getting blown by your girl in your parents' basement.

Steve gets so much pussy Tommy almost wonders, almost asks him if it's a fuckin' waste, but. Things are _normal,_ now, between him and Steve and at home. Tommy doesn't think about that night, and he certainly doesn't talk to Steve about it. Doesn't think about Adam.

Steve's their little ringleader, and Tommy can breathe around him again. Backs Steve up like a best friend is supposed to, gets physical in fights that Steve starts. Finishes them.

Normal shit like that.

* * *

Then along comes Nancy fuckin' Wheeler.

Jee- _sus._ What a goddamn princess.

"You never do anything fun with us any more, Stevie," Carol whines, sprawled across Tommy and Steve's laps on the couch in the Harringtons' basement. She takes a toke off the joint and hands it over to Tommy.

"I really like her," Steve shrugs, frowning. He waves off the joint Tommy tries to pass him. Like, what the fuck, it's just weed. "Nancy doesn't really like that stuff. I'm trying to cut back."

"She's fuckin' uptight," Tommy snorts. She's stuck around the longest of all the girls Steve's fucked around with, and of course, she's the most annoying. Tommy _hates_ her.

"A fucking princess," Carol giggles in agreement. Thank God for Carol.

* * *

Steve throws the whole Barb thing way outta proportion.

"Dude, stop fuckin' crying about it, okay?" Tommy hisses at him. Steve won't stop trying to talk to him about it whenever they hang out. Whenever Steve decides that Tommy's _worthy_ to hang out with, instead'a Princess Wheeler. "So she disappeared, it's not like you fuckin' killed her—"

He's constantly at Nancy's heels like a little bitch. Like, _relax,_ dude. He never has any time to hang out with Tommy and Carol any more. Things are supposed to be _normal,_ now, why's Steve gotta fuck that up?

* * *

Oh, so _Steve_ fucks up, but _Tommy and Carol_ are the assholes? Jesus, _fuck._ Tommy's _done_ bailing him outta fights. Tommy calls Steve up later that night, chews him up a little, yells at him for any little thing that comes to his mind.

"Jesus, everything's _fag-this, fag-that,_ with you," Steve hisses, obviously tearing up in his rich mansion across the street. Boo-fuckin'-hoo. Steve cries so easily, always has. He's a fuckin' pussy. That's why Tommy always has to fight his fights for him. Be his attack dog.

Tommy's fuckin' _done_ with Steve Harrington. He slams the phone down in the cradle a couple times after he hangs up and storms off to do literally anything to take his mind offa Steve.

* * *

Billy Hargrove, now _that's_ a guy that knows how to party.

"They make 'em different in California, huh?" Carol whispers in his ear, drunk already, hanging off of him. She's too hot, making Tommy sweat in his costume. Tommy doesn't shrug her off, because what kinda guy shrugs off his girl when she's drunk and horny at a party? A fag, that's what.

Billy Hargrove beats Steve's keg stand record easily, and Tommy's found a new king to carry around on his shoulders. He can't wait to shove it in Steve's face.

_I don't need you, Stevie. No one does._

* * *

Billy's Tommy's fuckin' _hero._ Someone shoulda kicked Steve's ass a long time ago, so Steve can stop getting ideas that aren't normal. Faggin' around, hanging out with a bunch of preschoolers like some sort of pervert? Someone needs to stop that.

"You shoulda finished him off," Tommy says lowly, half joking, half not, watching Steve disappear from the locker room into the gym. Fuckin' Stevie gets beat to all hell and still looks like a pretty boy. Bullshit. Billy shoulda punched harder.

Billy sneers, pulling his shoelaces tight. "Finish him off yourself, fag." He stands up and slams his locker shut, stalking after Steve.

"What the fuck, man?" Tommy says, bewildered. _Billy's_ the one who started it.

* * *

So Hargrove beats the shit outta Stevie, and suddenly they're best friends when they come back after break? It's a goddamn Christmas miracle.

What the actual _fuck._

* * *

So the thing is, remember how Tommy's lived across from Steve since they were six? Yeah, that means Tommy pretty much knows _everything_ Steve gets up to.

Like when Steve suddenly keeps all the goddamn lights on in his house after that fucked up party where whatsherface went missing, like an asshole. Some of us are trying to _sleep,_ here.

Like when Steve has a bunch of fuckin' preschoolers riding around in his car all winter-long like it's a pedo van. Fuckin' faggy, man.

Like when it's one in the morning, and it's fuckin' hot because spring's almost over, and Tommy's jerked off and trying to fuckin' sleep, but Hargrove's fuckin' Camaro rumbles down the street.

Like when he watches from his bedroom, because he can't _sleep_ when Steve keeps all the lights on and Hargrove's loud-ass car rips down the road, and he sees Steve yank Hargrove in through the front door.

Like when Steve lets Hargrove fuck him up the ass all summer in his backyard, right out in the open, without a goddamn condom. Like a _slut._

* * *

Tommy feels like that pervert Jonathan Byers, sitting in the woods and creeping on the Harrington's backyard.

Hears Steve laugh, hears Steve fuckin' _giggle,_ and say, "Shut up, asshole, I love you." Feels something break inside him, a little. Doesn't know what.

Tommy doesn't know why he stays. Keeps coming back, night after night.

Keeps watching Hargrove slide into Steve, bite bruises onto Steve's throat, fill him up. Take him in every fuckin' position Tommy's ever seen, right in the fuckin' backyard.

Keeps hearing Hargrove run his filthy mouth, right in Stevie's ear, making Tommy shift around, pants uncomfortably tight.

Keeps watching Steve stare at Hargrove with his stupid-pretty eyes, drape his arms around Hargrove's neck, moan like a porn star.

Keeps hearing the slick noises, the gasping, the laughing— who _laughs_ this much while they're fucking? Is that a fag thing? Why the fuck is Steve so _happy?_

Why the _fuck_ does Tommy keep _coming back?_

* * *

Fuckin' Steve Harrington always gets what Tommy wants, and apparently so does Billy Hargrove.

Like, Steve was Tommy's friend fuckin' _first_ , and then Tommy had Billy, and then Tommy somehow lost both of them to each other.

Like, Steve's suddenly treating that gummy-mouthed freak like a brother. Like Steve has _any_ idea what it's like to have a brother.

Like, Hargrove always sneaking into the Harrington mansion like Tommy used to do, sharing cigarettes and weed and booze.

Like, Hargrove fucking Steve like he loves him—

No, _no. NO._ Tommy doesn't need _any_ of them, not when they're all fuckin' fags. Hargrove can have Tommy's leftovers; he's _done_ with Steve Harrington.

* * *

Tommy's always had fucked up dreams. Dreams about everyone and everything. After so many nights of watching Hargrove fuck Steve, it's not a surprise that it shows up in Tommy's dreams.

In his dream, he watches Steve climb on top of Hargrove, who's lounging like an asshole on one of the pool chairs. Watches Steve slide back onto Hargrove's dick, bare and easy, like he's as wet inside as a girl. Hears him moan, and then suddenly he's watching them fuck in Stevie's bedroom, with that awful plaid wallpaper, Hargrove on top of Steve, fucking into him slowly, both of them _giggling_ at each other like fuckin' sissies. Then Tommy's in Stevie's bed, and Hargrove's gone, and _Tommy's_ the one sliding into Steve's wet heat, looking down at him, so _happy._

Steve smiles up at him, and they're fuckin' in Tommy's bedroom, in Tommy's bed, away from the plaid and away from Hargrove. Steve and Tommy are giggling at each other, easy and in love, the way it _should_ be.

"Billy, Billy, I love you," Steve smiles up at Tommy. Tommy feels his heart rip in half, stops thrusting his hips, frozen.

"Tommy, Tommy," Steve smiles, cradling Tommy's face in his hands. "I've never loved you."

Tommy wakes up and punches a hole in his bedroom wall, two, three, imagines it's Hargrove's face, Stevie's face, his own stupid fuckin' face. Then he stalks off into the bathroom for a cold shower.

* * *

Tommy's sick of this shit, night after night of Hargrove fuckin' Steve in the backyard and Tommy fuckin' Steve in his dreams. He storms across the road and bangs down Steve's door until he answers.

"So you're still a fag, Stevie?" Tommy says as soon as Steve opens the door. Steve's happy expression drops immediately. He was clearly expecting Hargrove, not Tommy.

Desperate, angry, fed up with everything he can't have, Tommy slams their lips together, kisses Steve for the briefest of seconds, before Steve shoves him off. He wonders if this is how Steve felt, when they were fourteen. Broken. Furious. Agonized.

"Tommy, what the _fuck —"_

"Why _him,_ Stevie?" Tommy demands. He's _gotta_ know why Hargrove can have Steve, when Tommy was so loyal, always backed him up, didn't fuckin' do anything but what Steve said. Why Steve couldn't have tamped it all down and be _normal_ so Tommy could be, too, until Tommy could _deal_ with it. "Why fuckin' Hargove, Jesus, he beat the _shit_ outta you—"

"Yeah, and I heard you told him he should've finished the job," Steve spits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. God, Tommy forgot about that. "He'll fucking kill you if he finds out you touched me, Tommy, I'm not kidding, you gotta fucking leave."

"He's a psycho!"

 _"Him?"_ Steve laughs hysterically. _"Billy's_ the psycho? Are you kidding me right now? _You_ just fucking _kissed_ me!"

Tommy panics. Tommy's panic always defaults to anger, when it comes to Steve. When things aren't _normal_ between them. Steve's so easy to get mad at, so easy to blame, the way he just asks for it, looking like that. "You've kissed half the town; you're a slut, Steve, what do you care?"

"Jesus," Steve breathes out, doe-eyes wide. Filling up with tears, because that's what Stevie _does. "Jesus,_ so now I'm a _fag_ and a _slut?"_

Everything is so fucked up right now, and Stevie thinks he _isn't_ a fag, fuckin' Hargrove every night? Thinks he _isn't_ a slut, having been through half the town's girls, and who knows how many of the town's guys? Drops Tommy, 'cause he can't be fuckin' _normal?_ "You let Hargrove fuck you up the ass in your _backyard,_ how many other guys you got swinging through your back door?"

"What, are you _jealous?"_

_Yes. NO._

_"Fuck_ you, Stevie," Tommy spits.

Steve slams the door in his face. Probably fuckin' crying behind it, the way Stevie always has.

Fuckin' _faggot._

* * *

Tommy and Hargrove haven't talked in months, probably because Steve's been too busy bending over for him. Not like he's good for anything else. Tommy's always been way better company; Steve's only ever been the leader of the group because he's rich and pretty.

Hargrove hunts Tommy down under the bleachers just before graduation, like a bloodhound. Like Stevie's little attack dog. Like Steve's replaced Tommy. Like that's _possible._

"We gotta talk about Harrington," Hargrove says, lighting up a cigarette.

"Steve's so desperate and easy, he'll take anyone's friendship," Tommy sneers immediately. Steve's so _lonely,_ by himself in that big mansion where his daddy pays for everything he wants. "He's had a different girl every week since freshman year; don't be so fuckin' surprised when he drops you, too." He drops everyone that isn't good enough for him, and Hargrove sure as _fuck_ isn't good enough.

"You know what I think, Tommy-boy?" Hargrove drawls, blowing out a plume of smoke. He always looks like he doesn't give a fuck, right before he unleashes the psycho. "I think you got a little crush on Stevie, and you're too much of a pussy to do anything about it."

Tommy chokes on his cigarette. "I'm not a fag—"

Hargrove snorts. "Yes, you fuckin' are. Me 'n' Steve fuck each other up the ass, and you're a bigger fag than the both of us put together." Wait, Hargrove lets Steve fuck him _too?_ How has Tommy never—

"I think that you've got a crush on Stevie, Tommy-boy, and you were too stupid to do anything about it, so now you just mope in his backyard and watch us _fuck."_

Tommy feels his blood freeze. "The fuck are you talking about, man?"

"You think I don't know?" Hargrove laughs, maniacal. Like the fuckin' psycho he is. "You make too much fucking noise jerkin' off in the bushes, _man,_ wishing it were you fucking Steve instead'a me. Lost your fuckin' chance, though."

Then, Hargrove turns, and punches Tommy right in the fuckin' jaw, lays him right out on the ground. He drops his cigarette on the grass, close to Tommy's head, and crushes it out with his boot. Tommy feels his hair pull, thinks it might be burning. Thinks his chest might be. His whole body, maybe.

"That's your fuckin' warning, Hagan," Hargrove snarls above him. He kicks Tommy right in the side, making him curl up, lose his breath. "You touch him, or make him cry again, and you're _dead."_

* * *

Tommy's home alone, bored, just laying on the couch, icing his fuckin' ribs, because Carol's off vacationing with her family in God-knows-where, and his parents are at work, and he doesn't have Steve any more. The phone rings. Tommy considers not picking it up, but. Fuck. He doesn't have anyone.

"Hello?"

_"Tommy, that you?"_

Tommy bolts upright. "Adam?"

 _"Yeah, man,"_ Adam laughs. _"Been, uh, trying to reach you for a while, kid. How you been?"_

"Uh, okay, I guess?" Tommy's probably lost his mind. He hasn't spoken to Adam in years. "You?"

_"Pretty great. How's Mom and Pops? And Steve, you still buddies with him?"_

Pretty fuckin' pissed, still. Like, _we only have one son,_ pissed. Like, _the only good queer's a dead one,_ pissed. "Okay. How's Chicago?"

Who gives a fuck about Steve. Steve's got his own little bitch life playing housewife to Hargrove. Probably lets him in the door, all _oh hi, honey, dinner's ready,_ hands him a glass of fuckin' whiskey and drops to his knees to suck Hargrove off.

 _"It's awesome, kid, I think you'd really like it."_ They both let the conversation hang, unsure of where to go.

"You still a fag?" Tommy asks dully, unable to stop himself.

_"I — Jesus. Yeah, Tommy, I'm still a fag. You're eighteen, you ever think about growing up a little?"_

"Fuck you," Tommy says immediately. "Why'd you even fuckin' call, man?"

_ "'cause you're my brother, and I miss you, and I thought maybe we could hang out, now that you've graduated and aren't under our parents' lock and key, kid." _

"Why couldn't you have just kept your fuckin' mouth shut? Then we wouldn't have this problem." If Adam and Steve didn't open their goddamn mouths—

_ "Because I don't want to live a lie my whole life, Tommy— I'm finally out of that house, and I've got a great job, and my boyfriend—" _

"You've got a boyfriend, too?" Tommy laughs, a little sick. "Which one of you's the chick? You take it up the ass like Stevie?" And _Hargrove,_ apparently. God, what Tommy wouldn't give to see—

_ "Stevie— you mean Steve _ Harrington? _ Your best friend?" _

"I'm not friends with _fags,_ Adam," Tommy spits. 

_ "Tommy, listen to me, you don't fuckin' tell _ anyone, _ you get me? If Steve's really gay, leave him the fuck alone." _

_"Christ,_ why does everyone care about _Steve_ more than me?"

_ "'cause you ain't gay in that fuckin' shit town, Tommy! Christ, he could get killed if you say the wrong thing to someone." _

"So?" Tommy says. Like that would be the worst thing, if someone found out he was a fag. Like it wouldn't be a goddamn blessing to not be a fag, any more. Not to be alive, and have those thoughts, any more. God, what Tommy wouldn't give—

_ "Jesus, Tommy, I don't know how to explain to you that you should care about your best friend dying! Look, do me a favor, okay, call him up and give him my number?" _

"What for?"

_ "Because I _ know _ what it's like to be gay in Hawkins, Tommy. I know what it's like to try to shove down all those broken parts of you, and hide it from people, and walk around in fear that everyone's gonna find out and string you up and leave you for dead." _

"So you'll call and talk to Steve, is that it? Call me up, find out Steve's a fag, and drop me for him, just like you dropped me before?"

_ "I want to be here for you, too, Tommy. You're my brother. Steve doesn't have one. You think he doesn't want someone to talk to about this?" _

_Talk to me,_ Tommy thinks desperately. _"He's_ got his _boyfriend, I'm_ the one who doesn't have anyone!"

_ "Then you gotta talk to me, Tommy, I fuckin' promise you, I'm listening." _

* * *

Tommy calls Steve up, tells him he wants to talk. He doesn't know why, but Steve agrees to meet him.

They sit on Tommy's porch stairs, while Hargrove sits on Steve's, watching from across the street, looking like a rabid dog.

"All I ever wanted was to be your friend, Tommy," Steve sighs first, because Tommy hasn't spoken since they sat down. Doesn't know where to start, really, now that Steve's actually here. "It was just a stupid crush, man, and it was like you hated me."

"But you _are_ a fag," Tommy says immediately. Steve's gotta _know_ that, right? Tommy can't help himself. "I heard you tell Hargrove you love him; it doesn't get much more faggy than that, man." The way that Steve said it plays over and over in Tommy's head. It's probably the worst thing he's ever heard.

"Jesus, you heard that?"

Yeah, and it hurts, and Tommy wants Steve to hurt, too. "He's gonna leave you, Stevie, just like everyone else. Why even bother with him?"

"God, I don't know why I even bother with you, man," Steve huffs, getting up from the stairs. "Have a nice life, or whatever." Fuck, _fuck,_ he's fucked it up again.

Tommy grabs him desperately by the wrist. "Stevie— fuck, Steve, just— wait, man."

"What else have you got to say to me? Wanna call me a slut again?" It's not like it isn't _true._

"You remember my brother?" Tommy mutters, avoiding Steve's eyes.

"Yeah," Steve shrugs, apprehensive, still trying to pull away. "Adam. He still in Chicago?"

"Yeah," Tommy says. "Big fuckin' fag, too."

Steve looks struck by that, loosens up a little. "Adam? _Your_ brother Adam?"

Tommy drops his wrist and shrugs. "Mom and Pops hate him. Told 'im they never wanna see him again. He's got a boyfriend. Wears pink and glitter and fuckin' _feathers_ all the time. Christ, he used to play football, for fuck's sake." High school quarterback, got a fuckin' scholarship and everything for it.

"That... kinda shit doesn't really matter," Steve says. "Is he... is he happy?"

"How the fuck would I know?" Tommy snarls. He seemed pretty happy on the phone. Wouldn't shut the fuck up about his _boyfriend._ "Who the fuck would be happy living like that?"

"I am," Steve says quietly. "I don't have to pretend with Billy." Well, who the fuck _was_ he pretending with then, because he wasn't fuckin' pretending when he tried to kiss Tommy.

"What, you two prance around in your big mansion with feather boas too?"

"God, why do you hate me so much, Tommy? I tried kissing you _once,_ when we were kids, and you went fucking _nuclear."_

"I don't hate you." Tommy doesn't hate Steve at all. Tommy hates Steve only a bit. Tommy hates Steve completely, for having everything Tommy's ever wanted, made it look so _easy,_ when it fuckin' wasn't.

Steve snorts. "Sure coulda fooled me.  God, I'm not even— like, when you're calling me a fag, you're calling me gay, but I'm actually fuckin' bisexual, dude. I like both."

_Typical Stevie, can't make up his mind, so he gets both,_ something nasty in Tommy's head sneers. "Fag's a fag, Stevie." Strikes Steve silent, the way that Tommy's good at.

"I think we're done," Steve says quietly, after a moment. Tommy's chest constricts. "You're not— you're just not _getting_ it, Tommy. Just stay away from me and Billy, okay? We're not even gonna be here that much longer."

What the hell does that mean? "The fuck you two going?"

"California. Billy got a scholarship. You won't have to worry about living across from _fags,_ any more."

_ "Together?"  _ Together, like —

"Yes, _together—_ Tommy, what the fuck aren't you getting about me and Billy? We're not just fucking because we're the only two queers in Hawkins."

Tommy feels his gut twist. Wants to throw up. "What, there's more of you?"

"Yes, there's more of _us,"_ Steve says pointedly. 

"The fuck you mean, _us?"_ Tommy says, standing up.

"You know what I mean, Tommy. I think you get so angry, calling me a fag all the time, 'cause you are, too."

Tommy sees red. "Shut the fuck up, man!" Tommy says, shoving at Steve. Just like when they were fourteen, and Steve was bringing all this faggy nonsense up way too fast, talking to Tommy like he was some sort of queer, too.

Hargrove's across the street in an instant, grabbing Tommy's arm and twisting it behind him.

"Didn't I fuckin' tell you, Hagan," Hargrove snarls in his ear, "that you fuckin' touch him, and you're dead?"

"Billy," Steve warns. "Let's just go. Tommy and I are done."

Something inside Tommy breaks, a little. "Got a new attack dog, Stevie?" Tommy tries, just to get Steve to look at him again. He won't though. He's only got eyes for fuckin' Hargrove.

"You're goddamn right," Hargrove growls in his ear. Tommy just fuckin' _knows_ he's grinning like a psycho.

"Billy," Steve says quietly.

Hargrove snorts, lets Tommy go with a shove onto his knees.

"Adam wanted me to give you his number," Tommy says dully. This is it. Steve's made his choice loud and clear. "So you two can fag it up together in Chicago."

Steve furrows his brow. "I—"

"Leave it, Stevie," Hargrove says. Like he's got any right to calling Steve the nickname Tommy gave him. Like he's got any right to be telling Steve what to do. "Drop it in the fuckin' mailbox, or something, Hagan, because this shit? It's fucking _over."_

Yeah. It's over. 

* * *

Tommy watches Hargrove drive off with Steve in his stupid loud car. To California. _Together._ Feels his heart shatter in his chest, chokes on all the things he fucked up whenever he sees Steve's empty house across from his. Thinks he sick of living like this, hating Steve, hating Hargrove, hating himself.

A year later, he moves out of his parents' house, starts to breathe a little easier. Carol tells him that she wants to take a break. He visits Adam and Adrian (Christ, what a faggy name) in Chicago. Steve's probably better friends with Adam than he was with Tommy, now. Adam doesn't mention Steve unless Tommy brings him up.

Tommy fucked up his life. He's working on it. He's got his brother.

Fag life ain't so bad, in Chicago.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Steve's too fucking busy to have a list of people he can do without, because there's monsters in Hawkins, okay? Arbitrary high school shit is _so_ last year.

He's got a growing bunch of kids following him around like ducklings. They fucking multiply when he isn't watching, he swears. He's gotta protect them, and Nancy and Jonathan and Joyce and Hopper; he doesn't have _time_ for Tommy's homophobic freak outs, and Carol's rumor-spreading, and Tina's parties, and Billy _fucking_ Hargrove.

* * *

Steve remembers losing his goddamn mind when the new family moves across the street into the house that's been empty for years. It's a family with two boys, one way older than him, but one exactly his age.

He's six, and he makes his first friend that isn't hired by his parents. Tommy Hagan is so fucking _cool,_ and he loves playing with Steve. He's got the coolest freckles, and the coolest smile, and the coolest nicknames for Steve. Steve's parents call him _Steven,_ and the nannies call him _Steve,_ but Tommy calls him _Stevie._ It makes Steve feel warm inside. _  
_

Then, when they're eight, Carol shows up. She's got the prettiest hair, and she makes Tommy laugh so hard he spits out his milk at recess. Carol is _awesome._

Carol makes Tommy laugh, and Tommy laughing makes Steve laugh. Steve watches Carol make the joke, but his eyes are always on Tommy to see his eyes crinkle, arm holding his stomach in, lips stretched wide in a smile.

Yeah, Carol fits in between them pretty great.

* * *

They're fourteen, and they stole a pack of cigarettes Tommy's brother left at home when he moved out, and a bottle of vodka from Steve's parents. They share their first cigarette together, sitting on the swings at the playground down the street from their houses.

Steve thinks it was pretty cool of them to smoke and drink, and Carol's not here, and it's dark and the moonlight's out and it's _romantic_ , and Tommy looks pretty fuckin' cute with his freckles, laughing as he switches the cigarette for the bottle with Steve. Steve's always loved watching Tommy laugh. Steve's always loved—

Steve drops the cigarette, and goes in for a kiss. Doesn't stop to second-guess it.

"I'm not a fuckin' faggot, Stevie, and neither are you," Tommy says immediately, desperately, pushing Steve hard enough away that the he falls off the swing and onto his ass.

"I never fucking said that shit, man," Steve snaps, tears in his eyes, part pain, part humiliation. "I just—"

"Get yourself a fuckin' girlfriend then, man," Tommy threatens, tears welling up in his eyes, too. "Or I _swear,_ Harrington—"

Tommy's _never_ said his name like that before.

Steve asks Sherry Olsen out the next day. She's a year older than them, and she's Steve's first. It feels good, but he doesn't feel great about it afterwards. He keeps thinking about how Tommy shoved him away so fast, after barely a kiss, but Sherry climbs on top of him and fucks him their first date.

Sherry breaks up with him by the end of the week. It's pretty much his whole dating cycle with girls until junior year. It's fine. Dating a bunch of girls in high school is normal, even if you don't particularly like a lot of them, right?

He makes sure he doesn't look at Tommy the same ever again, even if it takes some time for the crush to fade. Things go back to _normal,_ the way Tommy so clearly wants them to.

Steve can do that, for Tommy.

* * *

Steve thinks he might actually be over Tommy after he meets Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy is sweet, and funny, and helps him with his homework, even when she gets frustrated with him. Always looks so pretty when she smiles at him, even when it's placating, Steve doesn't care. Her best friend Barbara Holland clearly doesn't like him. He's got a reputation, he knows.

He could change, for Nancy. He could easily love Nancy.

Nancy frowns at the cigarettes, and drinking, and weed, so Steve tries to cut back for her. Tommy and Carol roll their eyes at him.

Then Steve throws a party, and Nancy brings Barb, and okay, maybe Nancy doesn't have such a huge problem with all that, actually. She's even cooler than Steve thought. It's fast, but Steve thinks he's in love.

Then Barb dies, and Nancy's got problems with a whole lot more shit than cigarettes and alcohol and weed. Steve's gotta step up and follow her lead and make her feel a little _normal._ Pretend everything's fine. _  
_

* * *

Steve can't stop thinking about the fact that Barb died in his pool, in his backyard, where he lives practically by himself, but he can't really talk to anyone but Tommy about it, and he can't even tell him the whole truth.

"Dude, stop fuckin' crying about it, okay?" Tommy hisses at him, clearly fed up with Steve trying to talk about it. "So she disappeared, it's not like you fuckin' killed her—"

Steve can't talk to Nancy, because that was her _best fucking friend,_ okay? He can't exactly tell Nancy he's sad about Barb dying when he barely knew her; that it's so depressing, eating with Barb's parents week after week, unable to tell them anything. It's just fucking insensitive. But Jesus, Tommy could cut him some slack.

He's trying his best to be _normal,_ here.

* * *

God, Carol and Tommy are fucking _assholes._ Steve's an asshole, too. Then Tommy calls him up later, and screams every goddamn worst fear of Steve's into existence, ending with a classic _fag._

Steve's _done._ He's got bigger things to worry about. He doesn't need all these people in his life making him cry all the time. He's sick of being an asshole. He's sick of trying to be _normal._ It's exhausting. He just wants to be _okay._

So Steve apologizes to the theatre guy, and to Nancy, and to Jonathan, all who didn't deserve Steve being an asshole to them. Helps kill a monster, no big deal. He sure as _fuck_ is keeping his goddamn lights on in his house no matter what, from now on.

Fuck Carol and Tommy, though. Steve feels only a little bad about that.

* * *

Billy Hargrove is hot, but clearly a fucking asshole; Steve doesn't have _time_ for this epic stare-down when Nancy leaves his side, and Tommy's there rubbing Hargrove's keg stand record in Steve's face, like, _No one fuckin' needs you, Stevie._

Like, Steve _knows,_ okay? His parents don't need him, and Tommy and Carol don't need him, and, oh, apparently _Nancy_ doesn't need him either.

_Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit._

* * *

Steve doesn't have _time_ for Hargrove's peacocking on the court, and Hargrove's condescending attitude, and Hargrove's love of shoving him around. Steve goes and finds Nancy's other boyfriend, instead, 'cause he's gotta thank him for getting her home, no matter how pissed he is.

"They really make them different in California, huh?" Jonathan says mildly as they smoke cigarettes on the bleachers, while Hargrove shoves a bunch of guys around in the parking lot, all who look at him like he's the second coming.

"Ugh," Steve scoffs. "What's his fucking— no, no, you know what? Out of sight, out of mind."

* * *

Dustin named it fucking _Dart?_ It ate his _cat?_

Holy fuck, and Steve thought he had problems.

Steve can apologize to Nancy later. What's he apologizing for, again? Oh, right, because Steve's a poor little rich boy that doesn't have anyone else, and is scared of being alone.

Whatever. There's another fucking monster, and Steve can actually do something about it. He's not so _bullshit_ at that.

* * *

Well, okay, according to the newest kid Steve's picked up, Steve _does_ have to make time for Hargrove.

And boy, does Hargrove ever make time for him.

"Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?"

"It's me; don't cream your pants." _Why_ did he say that?

The way Hargrove looks at Steve is so fucking _obscene._ Like, Jesus, if Steve didn't have a million things to worry about, he might think about the way Hargrove shoves him around in a whole different light at one in the morning in his bed.

So Steve makes time for Hargrove because a group of kids are crying behind him, and Hargrove kicks the shit out of him, because Tommy has literally handled every single physical fight Steve's ever gotten into. Well, it's not like Steve ever thought he would fuck up so bad that he and Tommy wouldn't be friends, after he got away with kissing Tommy at fourteen.

Then he wakes up, and helps save the world all over again.

* * *

It's fuckin' seven in the morning on Saturday, and he's still healing from Hargrove breaking his face, and Nancy breaking his heart, okay, who the _fuck_ is ringing his doorbell?

It's Dustin, his little buddy. And Mike Wheeler, the little angsty asshole that always gave him the stink-eye whenever he ate dinner with the Wheelers, while Steve was dating Nancy.

And, uh. Fuck. What are the other ones' names, again?

"Steve, as an unofficial Party member, we'd like to request the use of your house for a campaign!" Dustin says, way too loud.

Oh, fuck, how could he forget zombie Will Byers? Right, right, and Lucas Sinclair, and Max Mayfield, the little spitfire.

"I'm an unoff— wait, _what?"_ What the fuck's a campaign?

The whole fucking group of them, five little ducklings in a row, all shove past Steve into his house, squawking. Little _assholes,_ do they just do this to everyone? Or is Steve just obviously a pushover?

"It's too fucking early for this, Henderson," Steve says, rubbing his eyes. He's half sure he's still asleep. "Are there any monsters?"

"Steve," Dustin says, looking concerned for his brain. Yeah, same, kid. "El closed the gate." Who the fuck is El, anyway? Whatever.

"Fine, great. Look, don't burn the house down, and don't wake me up again, 'til, like, after twelve. Eat whatever you find in the house, I don't care. _Don't fucking burn it down."_

And Steve turns right the fuck around, and goes back to sleep, like a _normal_ teenager on Saturday morning.

* * *

Steve blessedly doesn't have to hear, see, or _smell_ Billy fucking Hargrove until they go back to school in January, because they both avoid each other like the plague.

Then, of course, because the fight wasn't enough, Hargrove corners him the first day back.

"You and I are gonna have a little conversation, Harrington," Hargrove sneers.

Honestly, _fuck this shit._ Hargrove's Max's fucking _bitch,_ anyway, Steve might as well have backup in wrangling the brats from hell. Tommy would call him _lonely_ and _needy,_ but the kids have completely taken over Steve's life. They call themselves the _Party._ Like, Steve never has his own house on Saturday any more; that's reserved for Dungeons and Dragons, apparently. Whatever, it's not like Steve has a life, anyway. It's nice to have the house full of people, for the most part. At least Dustin doesn't wake him up 'til after twelve. But Steve needs someone his own age, so he doesn't accidentally end up strangling one of them. _  
_

It's only a little concerning that Billy Hargrove, asshole extraordinaire, is his best option.

"There's monsters in Hawkins. Wanna help me kill them?"

* * *

Okay, so maybe Steve makes time for Hargrove. Steve's a sucker for a pretty face. Then Billy apologizes and gets infinitely hotter. Steve feels a little less guilty and concerned about his choice in attractive people when he jerks off. Then Steve makes time for _Billy,_ but he's still gotta wrangle him like a wild dog. Not that he's gonna call Billy that out loud, while the guy's holding a lit cigarette.

"Listen, dude, if we're gonna hang out, you gotta get your fucking temper under control."

"My temper, _dude?"_ Billy sneers. He puffs up and looks like he's gonna start a fight.

"Yeah, your fucking temper," Steve snaps. He's not afraid of Billy. "I'm talking about leaving the kids alone. _Especially_ Max and Lucas." For the most part, after the fight and the monster confession in January, Billy has been leaving them alone. Billy's good to help kill monsters because he's as violent and unhinged as them. But Steve remembers the kids telling him about how Billy nearly ran them over, the way Max constantly says _he used to be cool, but,_ sees bruises on her wrists from Billy grabbing her, remembers the way that Billy absolutely would have killed him unless Max jabbed him with the needle.

Like, okay, Billy apologized for nearly killing him, so whatever, bygones and all that shit. There was an entire summer when Steve and Tommy got into petty fistfights that Carol ended with her own fists, and they were still friends. Well. At the time. And he's kinda friends with Jonathan, now. Steve's no stranger to being friends with people that punch him in the face.

But Steve abso- _fucking_ -lutely remembers the way Billy zeroed-in on Lucas in the Byers' house. Steve might be an asshole, but even he can't be friends with a racist. Aren't they supposed to be more tolerant on the west coast, anyway? Billy's got a fucking _earring,_ for Christ's sake. He _looks_ so cool, why can't he _be_ cool, too?

"The fuck you mean, Maxine and _Lucas?"_

"I mean you gotta get over your racist bullshit _fast,"_ Steve says seriously. "You think I didn't notice how you went after Lucas?"

"I'm not fuckin' racist," Billy snorts. "I hate every—"

"—one equally, yeah, I've heard that _shit_ before from the _old racist white guys_ at the country club," Steve finishes. "They're fucking kids, okay? It's 1985, get over yourself."

"This your fuckin' sticking point, Harrington? Really?" Did Billy _forget_ the fact that they had an entire knock-out fight about the kids? Yeah, it's his fucking _sticking point._

"Yeah, you know what, it _really_ fucking is."

"It's not even _me,_ okay?" Billy bursts out, snarling. "And _she's_ not the one that's gonna get in fuckin' trouble from it, so it's none of your fuckin' business."

"Those kids _are_ my business when you're putting bruises on them!"

Billy pauses at that. "The fuck you mean, I _barely_ touched Sinclair, he did more damage to me—" Yeah, okay, _that's_ a fucking _lie,_ but _—_

"I'm talking about Max," Steve snaps. "You grab her by the wrist all the time, you think that shit doesn't do some _damage?_ She's _thirteen,_ Billy, you're four years older than her and you could probably bench four times her weight."

"I didn't— I didn't mean to." Billy actually... looks kinda uncomfortable. _Good._ "She just doesn't fuckin' _listen."_

"If she isn't _listening,_ then whatever it is, you're not _saying_ it right," Steve says. _"Don't_ put your fucking hands on her any more."

"She _needs_ to stay away from Sinclair, I don't know how many times I gotta tell the two of you that." Great, this is gonna turn into a screaming match. Hopefully not another fistfight, Steve's still emotionally recovering from the first.

_ "Why?" _

"Because he's the type of people she ain't supposed to be hanging around with!"

"Oh, great, that racist shit again—"

"I fuckin' told you, Harrington, it ain't me!"

_"You_ literally just said it; it sure fucking looks like you!"

"Christ, I couldn't _give a shit_ what Maxine fuckin' does! But when she fucks up, it's on _me,_ okay? _She_ doesn't have to deal with the consequences!"

"I'm pretty sure bruises _are_ a fucking consequence!"

"Well they're a fuckin' love tap when it comes to what my dad would do!"

"Your _dad_ isn't the one bruising Max up!"

"Yeah, because he's too busy bruising _me_ up!"

Jesus. Steve blinks. Billy's _dad—_ "Jesus, Billy, I—"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Harrington," Billy says dangerously. Steve hasn't seen him this mad since that night; Billy's practically shaking. _"Shut the fuck up."_

Steve swallows nervously. Then keeps talking, because no one's ever said that Steve Harrington is smart. "Billy, if your dad is saying that shit, you _get_ that it's not Max's fucking fault, right? You can't be hurting her just because she doesn't understand the world the way you do."

"Christ, I didn't— I didn't _mean_ to."

"That doesn't make it any better, Billy."

"Yeah, I fuckin' know." Billy swallows. "She really got bruises on her wrist?"

Steve nods. "I'm not gonna sugar-coat it for you man, it's fucked up what you've done to the kids. But if your dad is taking shit out on you— that's fucked up, too."

"God, if she'd just fuckin' listen, I'd lay off—"

"No, you gotta lay off _no matter what,"_ Steve stresses. "She's a _kid,_ when's the last time you ever did something just because someone told you? Or did the exact opposite, just to piss them off?"

Billy shrugs. "All the fuckin' time."

"Yeah, exactly. So what's the _explanation_ for why she's gotta stay away from Lucas?"

"Neil doesn't touch her. Like, she fucks up and he treats her like a little princess, but he takes it out on me later. But she's getting older, now. She befriends some black kid, that's bad enough. Probably the usual shit, I dunno, he might start smacking her around for it. But he finds out they're _dating?_ He'll fuckin' lynch Sinclair and light them both on fire. I don't wanna fuckin' know what he'd do to me."

"Jesus," Steve breathes.

"So she's gotta listen, okay Harrington?" No, fuck, he _still_ isn't getting it.

"No. _You_ listen, the shit you put her through isn't fair, but the shit you're going through isn't either. If he's gonna do that, you two have _got_ to stick together. She's a kid, but she's not stupid, Billy. You've got to _explain_ it to her."

Billy laughs, that stupid _psychotic_ laugh that Steve _hates,_ sends shivers up his spine. "What, say, oh hey Max, can you fuckin' quit hanging around Sinclair so Neil doesn't think he's knocked you up and kill all three of us? And can you quit breaking the rules so Neil stops beating the shit out of me?"

"I dunno, but you gotta _try,_ Billy," Steve sighs. Steve's always wanted a sibling, hates being alone in that fucking house. Can't imagine what it's like to hate someone in your life, like that. He tries another tactic. "You know she talks about how cool you used to be?"

"...what?"

"Oh yeah, all, _Billy used to be so cool, he'd take me to the pier and teach me to skateboard and surf and—"_

"No, I fuckin' _didn't."_

"Max doesn't _lie,_ Billy, haven't you heard their whole group's stupid mantra? Friends don't lie."

"Jesus, okay, so I took her to the movies, like, once—"

"I think she thinks you two used to be friends. I think she probably wants that again."

"You're such a fuckin' _meddler,_ Harrington, Jesus, you're worse than all my exes put together."

"So you'll try?"

"Why would she even believe me, anyway?"

"You think she really lives in your house and doesn't notice anything weird? She's fought monsters, okay, she'll believe you. That's why I told you. Fight 'em together."

* * *

Billy's still the most violent sonofabitch Steve's ever met, but he cools it a little on the court, now. Pushes Tommy around more than he does Steve, which is great for the bruises on Steve's ass. They don't really hang out at school, but they meet up at lunch, most of the time, freezing their asses off smoking on the bleachers. Steve will take freezing with Billy over eating lunch inside watching Nancy and Jonathan gazing into each other's eyes. Steve's trying to be a nice guy, but she still broke his heart. He doesn't want their pity friendship. He doesn't want to watch Nancy fall in love, real love, whatever the fuck that means to her, with the guy she may have or may not have cheated on him with.

* * *

Steve and Billy get high together in Steve's living room. Because they're _friends,_ now. Steve's pretty sure, anyway.

"This shit ain't bad, Harrington."

"Dude, if the country gets something right, it's weed and meth," Steve laughs. "There's nothing else to do out here."

"Heard they're gonna open a _mall_ this summer, _dude,"_ Billy drawls. "It's gonna be totally _rad."_

 _"_ Maybe I can get a fucking job," Steve muses. As if. Like anyone would hire him. His skills include failing English, getting punched in the face, and killing monsters.

"The fuck you need a job for, princess?" Billy waves his hand around, indicating what Steve's always called a _house,_ but everyone else gratingly calls a _mansion._

"Daddy's cutting me off after summer," Steve sighs dramatically. "No college, no more free rides." Then he clamps his mouth shut.

God, like Steve's gonna whine to Billy about his sad, lonely, rich boy life. Billy's actually been through shit, he doesn't have time to listen to little Stevie cry about how hard it is to be left in a mansion with a bunch of money and a car and no parental supervision.

Billy goes home every night to a dad that smacks him around. Who the fuck _cares_ if Steve's by himself; at least his dad doesn't hit him whenever he deigns to come home.

Jesus. Sometimes the voice in his head sounds like Tommy.

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, pleasantly drunk, passing the joint back and forth. Steve tries not to think too much about Billy's mouth wrapped around the end of it when he takes a hit after.

"Remember when I beat the fuck outta you?" Billy says out of the blue.

"Noooo," Steve drawls sarcastically. "That really happened?" Like he could forget.

"What's Hagan's fuckin' deal? He told me I shoulda finished you off."

Steve's heart breaks a little, smirk dropping right off his face. "Yeah, well."

Billy sits up, narrows his eyes at Steve. "No, seriously, what the fuck? You make all the boys wanna fight and fuck you?"

"You wanna fuck me?" Steve snorts, drunk, deflecting, miserable. Billy's got these intense looks that he gives Steve, but there's no fucking way.

"Harrington, literally every single girl in this shit-town are cows. You're the hottest fuckin' thing here. What's Hagan's deal? Heard you two were best friends."

Steve shrugs. "You really think I'm hot?" That's flattering, if it's even remotely true. Billy's just blitzed.

"Answer the question, _Stevie."_

"Well, my answer depends on _yours._ If you're just fucking with me, I'd say I have no idea what Tommy's deal is."

"And if I tell you you're the hottest piece of ass in this town?"

Fuck it. Steve doesn't have time for people that treat him like shit, any more. He can handle the loneliness if Billy leaves. Probably. And if Billy beats him up for being a fag, well. It's not like he didn't survive it before. "Then I'd say that Tommy's been pissed at me since I was fourteen and tried to kiss him."

Billy's silent for a bit. Steve's heart has never beat so fast.

"Fuckin' _idiot."_ Yeah, Steve's heard that one before. It still stings. "He had you, and passed you up?" Oh.

Billy's eyes darken. "Too fuckin' bad for him."

_Oh._

* * *

Okay, okay, so Steve knew that he was at least a little bit gay, ever since he'd tried to kiss Tommy.

But holy _shit,_ does Billy ever confirm it.

Billy sucks Steve's dick, and Steve can't move afterwards, can't feel his fucking _toes.  
_

"You're gonna teach me how to do that, right?" Steve asks breathlessly, sidling up against Billy, sliding his arm over the guy's toned stomach. Billy has _technique._ Billy has _finesse._ Billy _rocked his fucking world,_ and if Steve has _ever_ needed to learn anything, it's how to suck cock like Billy Hargrove.

"Right now?" Billy smirks, lighting up a cigarette. He's such a smug asshole. Steve's into it.

"Literally as soon as we both get it up, again," Steve says seriously, stealing the cigarette from him, taking a drag.

 _"Harrington,"_ Billy laughs. It's not the crazy one he normally favors. It's _nice._ "We are gonna have so much fuckin' _fun."_ He pinches Steve's side, steals the cigarette back from him. _  
_

Steve hides a smile against Billy's shoulder. Yeah, they fuckin' are.

* * *

"You sure?" Billy asks him, eyeing him shrewdly. "It's not for everyone, Stevie."

Listen, asshole, Steve's been using lube since he was fifteen and his dad left bottles everywhere because his mother stopped caring about what his dad does with his mistresses on _business trips._ He's used his fingers, once or twice, before he even met Billy. After Billy apologized, well, shit. Practically fucks himself on his fingers every night, thinking about the electric blue of Billy's eyes.

Steve's a big boy. He can handle a dick. He's pretty sure.

"Your dick isn't that big," Steve snorts, lying. For something going up his ass, yeah, it's pretty big.

"Excuse _you,"_ Billy says. "Just because you've got a fuckin' anaconda—"

"You gonna fuck me or what, Hargrove?" Steve challenges, already unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm getting _lonely,_ over here—"

"I'll show you fuckin' lonely, you little shit," Billy laughs, and tackles him off the sofa.

* * *

Yeah, Steve's attracted to girls, but he's definitely like, 50% gay.

Billy makes it good for him, like everything else they've done together, because Billy's a fuckin' porn star in his past life, or something. If Steve was stupid, and in love, Steve might say that Billy cares enough about Steve that he _made sure_ to make it fuckin' amazing. Fucked him in his _bed,_ even.

Steve's sore, and stretched out in the weirdest way, and he can't fucking get enough. He rolls over into Billy's arms, nipping at his jaw.

"Again?" Steve asks, hiding a smile against Billy's skin.

"You're fuckin' goddamn _right_ we're doing that again," Billy grins back at him. Steve fuckin' _lives_ for that grin.

* * *

Steve laughs, Steve fuckin' giggles, and says, "Shut up, asshole, I love you." He doesn't even mean it in _that way,_ it's just that Billy makes him laugh, and Billy makes him feel good about himself, and Steve appreciates that. He'd say that to any of his friends. Dustin would probably say it back immediately, because they're practically brothers, now.

Billy kinda trips over himself though, and Steve tenses. Tommy always hated that _faggy shit._

But Billy straightens up, nods and smirks, self-assured. "'course you fuckin' do, Stevie."

* * *

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. He's not sure he heard Billy right. Billy wants _Steve_ to—

"Will you please," Billy sighs, staring up at the ceiling. "Please, consider, King Steve, porking me with your mighty sword?"

"Okay," Steve chokes out in excitement. Can't even laugh at what Billy actually just said, he's so nervous. He loves getting fucked by Billy, but— Billy's never really mentioned the opposite, before. 

Steve's pretty sure this _means_ something.

So Steve stretches out Billy, nice and slow, the way Billy does for him. Finds that place inside him that'll make him light up, licks up the underside of his cock as he strokes at it, makes Billy hiss and whine, the way Billy makes him.

Slides into him, gentle as anything. Nearly suffocates at the tightness, the heat, the way Billy's fucking looking at him, like Steve's worth something.

"I love you," Steve blurts out, because he's a massive fuckin' cliché.

Billy stops moving above him, stares intently into his eyes. Steve feels his heart thunder in his chest. Billy grins the tiniest bit. "'course you fuckin' do, baby. Love you, too."

Steve's a romantic, okay, he can't be fucking blamed for coming after that. _You_ try lasting after Billy Hargrove calls you _baby_ , and says he loves you back.

* * *

Billy's _early,_ holy shit. And banging down the door like an asshole. Not like Steve gave him a key, or anything.

"So you're still a fag, Stevie?" Tommy demands as soon as Steve opens the door.

Ah. Not Billy then. Seeing Tommy's like a blast of anger from the past. Steve's been living a cozy little life with Billy in his empty house. Hangs out with the kids every Saturday, even got into playing their dumb games, because it's actually pretty good, once they explained it. God, he hasn't thought about Tommy in months.

Tommy's face twists up, and then he slams his lips against Steve's, kisses Steve for the briefest of seconds, before Steve shoves him off.

"Tommy, what the _fuck —" _What the fuck what the fuck what the _fuck_ _—  
_

"Why him, Stevie?" Tommy says. "Why fuckin' Hargove, Jesus, he beat the shit outta you—"

"Yeah, and I heard you told him he should've finished the job," Steve spits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Like he could forget that. "He'll fucking kill you if he finds out you touched me, Tommy, I'm not kidding, you gotta fucking leave." Billy is going to go fucking _insane._ He _hates_ Tommy.

"He's a psycho!"

 _"Him?"_ Steve laughs hysterically. Maybe _Steve's_ the psycho; is this _actually_ fucking happening? _"Billy's_ the psycho? Are you kidding me right now? _You_ just fucking _kissed_ me!"

Tommy panics. Steve knows Tommy's panic always defaults to anger, when it comes to Steve, when things aren't _normal._ "You're a slut, Steve, what do you care?"

"Jesus _. Jesus,_ so now I'm a _fag_ and a _slut?"_ Steve is kinda thrown by how much that hurts. Tommy's chucked the word fag at him since they were kids, but slut is new. Billy jokingly calls Steve a slut for his cock, makes Steve roll his eyes and blush, but the way Tommy says it isn't the same way. _  
_

"You let Hargrove fuck you up the ass in your backyard, how many other guys you got swinging through your back door?"

Holy _fuck,_ why does Tommy _know_ that? Has he _seen_ them? "What, are you _jealous?"_ Great comeback, what is he, fourteen? He's been hanging with the kids too much. _  
_

_"Fuck_ you, Stevie," Tommy spits. 

Steve slams the door in his face. He tries not to cry like the little bitch Tommy's always said he is. Tommy's always made him cry so easily.

* * *

"What's wrong with you?" Billy says when Steve opens the door.

Steve shrugs and swallows heavily. "Don't worry about it. Wanna order pizza? I don't feel like cooking."

* * *

Billy slams into the house through the front door. Steve gave him the spare key the other month. It's not like anyone else uses it.

Billy looks _pissed._ Like, more pissed than the night he beat Steve's face in. _  
_

"What the fuck happened to you?" Steve asks, bewildered.

Billy stalks over to the couch, slams their lips together, kisses Steve like the world's gonna end. It feels nothing like Tommy's.

"He _ever_ touches you, he says any sort of _shit_ to you, you _tell_ me, baby," Billy snarls when he pulls away.

What?

_"Hagan."_

Oh. "That why your knuckles are bruised?"

"Yes. And I'll fuckin' put him six feet under if he _ever_ makes you feel like that again."

That's... kind of violently sweet, and very, very likely to get Billy arrested. Steve should probably distract him. "He alive?"

"For now," Billy says darkly.

Fuck Tommy. Billy's here, looking at Steve like he's Billy's whole fucking world.

* * *

Steve gets the job. It's a shitty job, and _fuck_ does it ruin his best feature with that hat, but it's a job. He's making money, and he sees Billy a little less during the day, but Billy's making money lifeguarding at the Hawkins Community Pool and they're making money to go to California.

_Together._

Robin Buckley is an unexpected bonus. She's smart, and funny, and calls him dingus all the time. She doesn't let him get away with shit. If Dustin and Billy weren't constantly barking at each other for the glorified position of Steve's best friend, he'd probably say that Robin's the winner.

Robin reminds him of Billy a lot, actually. She and Steve and Billy smoke a joint out back of the mall during a slow day, and Billy compliments her shoes.

Robin goes bright red, and it takes the entire day to get it out of her, and three more joints, but.

Robin's like them, too. Robin's fucking _awesome._

* * *

Tommy's just not fucking _getting_ it. Robin says that calling people out on their sexuality is bad, but Steve's been dealing with Tommy's shit for over a decade.

He's not gonna be mean. Billy would fucking call him out and tell Tommy that he's jealous and in love with Steve, and can't handle the fact that Billy got him instead.

Steve thinks privately that Billy's not entirely far off the mark, but he doesn't really care about how Tommy feels about him. He hasn't had a crush on Tommy since junior year. He's just sick of Tommy using that word non-stop, hating Steve and hating _himself._

"God, why do you hate me so much, Tommy? I tried kissing you _once,_ when we were kids, and you went fucking _nuclear."_

"I don't hate you." What a fuckin' lie. 

Steve snorts. "Sure coulda fooled me.  God, I'm not even— like, when you're calling me a fag, you're calling me gay, but I'm actually fuckin' bisexual, dude. I like both." Robin is a fuckin' godsend, okay. Dustin can be his brother and Billy can be his boyfriend, but Robin gave him the word _bisexual_ and Robin is his best fuckin' friend.

"Fag's a fag, Stevie." God, Steve fucking _hates_ that word. Hates the way it makes him sad, makes him angry, makes him flinch.

"I think we're done," Steve says quietly, after a moment. "You're not— you're just not _getting_ it, Tommy. Just stay away from me and Billy, okay? We're not even gonna be here that much longer."

"The fuck you two going?"

"California. Billy got a scholarship. You won't have to worry about living across from _fags,_ any more."

_ "Together?" _

"Yes, _together—_ Tommy, what the fuck aren't you getting about me and Billy? We're not just fucking because we're the only two queers in Hawkins."

Tommy's face twists up. "What, there's more of you?"

"Yes, there's more of _us,"_ Steve says pointedly. 

"The fuck you mean, _us?"_ Tommy says, standing up.

"You know what I mean, Tommy. I think you get so angry, calling me a fag all the time, 'cause you are, too."

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Tommy says, shoving at Steve. Just like when they were fourteen, and all Steve wanted was to kiss his best friend, and Tommy wanted to kill him.

Billy's across the street in an instant, grabbing Tommy's arm and twisting it behind him.

"Didn't I fuckin' tell you, Hagan," Billy snarls in his ear, that wild dog Steve's gotta wrangle, "that you fuckin' touch him, and you're dead?"

"Billy," Steve warns. "Let's just go. Tommy and I are done."

"Got a new attack dog, Stevie?" God, if Steve looks at Tommy he's gonna start crying, in that way that only Tommy can make him.

"You're goddamn right," Billy growls, grinning.

"Billy," Steve says quietly.

Billy snorts, lets Tommy go with a shove onto his knees.

"Adam wanted me to give you his number," Tommy says dully. "So you two can fag it up together in Chicago."

Steve furrows his brow. "I—"

"Leave it, Stevie," Billy says, pulling Steve's eyes back to him. "Drop it in the fuckin' mailbox, or something, Hagan, because this shit? It's fucking _over."_

Yeah. It's over. Steve's done letting Tommy break his heart. Done letting Tommy make him cry. _  
_

Steve's got someone that won't, now. Got a whole group, actually. He's gonna be just fine.

* * *

Billy takes him to California, even lets him drive the Camaro, once or twice. Steve watches the way Billy just instantly relaxes as soon as they hit the beach, like he's never been angry in his life. Like he's never had his mom abandon him, his dad beat the shit outta him. 

It's _wild,_ the way that Billy seems so different so fast, the way his body language is. Fuck, if Steve knew it would be like this for Billy to come home, he would have quit his job and dug into his trust fund just to get them to California that much quicker.

Billy insists they hit the beach first, doesn't even care about stopping at a motel or hotel or anything, says he'll sleep in the car if it means they see the sunset on the beach first. And yeah, okay, it's fucking worth it, for the way that it looks, the warmth and the sand and the water and _Billy_ beside him.

"You look real at home, sweetheart. California looks good on you," Billy says, gazing into his eyes, like some sort of romantic.

"Yeah?" Steve grins at him, heart fluttering. "You, too."

_Welcome home, babe._

* * *

* * *

* * *

Billy can do without this whole goddamn shit-town called Hawkins.

The girls are all cows, and the boys are all pathetic, _especially_ Carol Perkins and Tommy Hagan. They're so clearly desperate for someone to boss them around, and they constantly bitch about King Steve Harrington.

 _Steve's a loser,_ Carol giggles.

 _Stevie's a faggot,_ Tommy sneers.

Everything's the goddamn Steve Harrington saga with them.

Whatever. This Harrington guy's fall from grace just makes it that much easier for Billy to place himself at the top of the pyramid, make the best outta life in this shit-town before he can give it the finger from his rear-view mirror.

* * *

Billy's fourteen, and he's at a house party, and everyone is _so_ fucked up. Some chick he barely knows is on her knees in front of him, giving him his first blow job.

But his best friend, Brad, is on the couch beside him, and he's fuckin' kissing Billy while the chick goes down on him. And yeah, the blowjob's pretty great, but holy _shit,_ can Brad kiss.

Fuck, Neil would be right.

Billy _is_ a faggot.

* * *

So Billy goes to parties, gets strung out on booze and weed and coke, gets into clubs he's way too young for, and picks up guys. Guys his age, fumbling through sex, guys a little older, a little more experienced, and even guys a lot older, less experienced because they're fuckin' married to _women._

He gets sucked and fucked for the first time, returns the favor multiple times over, and _yeah._ He's having the time of his life, even living with his piece of shit dad. _  
_

Billy is _definitely_ a faggot. Thank fuckin' _God_ for California.

* * *

Maxine and Susan Mayfield move in when Billy's fifteen.

Susan is a real fuckin' piece of work. She's more pathetic than a used cum rag. Billy sometimes wildly vacillates between hating her for her complacency, and wanting to scream at her _Are you fucking stupid? He's a psycho, take Max and fucking run!_ Billy can tell that her old man used to smack Susan around, just from the way she instantly bows to Neil's iron fist, knows how to demur to him, hands always jittery.

Before she took off, Billy's mom didn't bow down, didn't demur; she was made of stronger stuff than Susan. But her hands shook like Susan's do. Like Billy's do, when Neil is teaching him _respect and responsibility_.

Max, on the other hand, is a stupid child, and doesn't fuckin' get that she can't get away with everything she did before. Doesn't get that Neil's in charge, now. Max is kinda okay for the most part though, stares at Billy's old skateboard more than the frilly dresses her mom keeps trying to entice her with.

Billy tries to keep Max outta the house as much as possible. There's lots of shit to do where they live, so he takes her wherever. All the cool things he was into when he was a kid her age, so maybe she can occupy herself, and Billy can get a fuckin' break from babysitting. Places where he doesn't have to look over his shoulder and make sure he isn't doing anything a _respectful_ and _responsible_ young man his age shouldn't.

Two years of this bullshit, tired and living on edge and trying to make sure Max doesn't trip over it. Then Max opens her fat fuckin' mouth, the one that she _still_ hasn't learned to shut while living in the Hargrove household, and Neil beats the shit outta Billy, knowing he's a faggot for real, now.

Bye bye, California, hello Indiana.

_Fuck._

* * *

Billy's never felt rage like this before, but it's all that runs through his body, now. He's not tired any more. Max is fuckin' _dead_ to him. She ruined his fuckin' life; he's gonna ruin hers for as long as he's stuck in Hawkins.

Max has got away with shit for too long. Billy's gonna show her how the world fucking works, and if he needs to run her fuckin' friends off the road, laughing like a maniac so he doesn't have to think about what his life's come to, so be it.

* * *

Billy kicks ass at keg stands, hasn't partied since he was fourteen to not be able to beat some country hick's record. Shows this piece of shit town and all its fucking losers how it's done in California, blood boiling. They're all so fuckin' _pathetic;_ he hates them more than he's hated anything else. Then he sees that King Steve's apparently decided to grace the peasants with his presence.

Billy loves staring straight guys down; they can't fuckin' _stand_ it.

But— maybe Tommy's onto something. King Steve's not breaking Billy's gaze. He's not checking him out, either, which is annoying, but he's not looking away.

Not until his little priss of a girlfriend walks away.

Okay. Seeing King Steve walk away smarts, sends Billy into a low-boiling rage, but Billy can work with this.

* * *

Tommy doesn't ever shut the fuck up about King Steve. It would be good if Tommy actually gave him useful information, instead of moaning about how he's a loser and a fag and dropped him and Carol over Nancy Wheeler.

Tommy drops the word fag so often Billy wants to punch him in the face every time he spits it. Like, if anyone's the fuckin' fag here, it's definitely Tommy, who can't stop whining about how Steve dumped him. Tommy loves that word more than Billy's fucking _dad._ Weirdly, Tommy never says it around anyone else. Calls Steve every insult under the sun around other people, but hisses _fag_ out first out when it's just him and Billy. Probably afraid of being called one by association, but trying to seem cool in front of the new king. _  
_

Billy's met and fucked closeted guys before. Yeah, Tommy's definitely the fag he claims Steve is.

Billy's still working on Steve.

* * *

"Stevie's a lonely little rich boy, always crying up in his gigantic mansion." Great. Billy loves fucking rich boys. They're prissy and try to pretend they're too good to get dicked, and then turn into moaning whores when Billy gets inside them.

"Stevie's a fag, hanging around all those kids." Yeah, he's heard that one _before,_ Tommy. Isn't one of them Harrington's fuckin' brother? Kinda weird, though.

"Bet Stevie still cries because that girl died in his pool forever ago." Wait, what the _fuck?_ Yeah, that's pretty fucked up, Hagan, _Jesus,_ what if someone died in _your_ fucking backyard?

* * *

God, Harrington's a piece of work. Billy's throwing all his best aggressive moves at him, practically grinding up against the guy's body all up and down the court, and he _still_ can't fuckin' tell if Harrington's interested or not. Harrington's pretty much wavering between completely ignoring Billy and warily keeping his distance, and it sets Billy's body _on fire,_ the fact that for all this fuckin' hype about _King Steve,_ Steve isn't really...

Paying attention to him. _Noticing_ Billy. Doesn't seem pissed at all that Billy's taken his crown, just that Billy's talking to him.

What's a guy gotta do to get a piece of ass around here? Call him _pretty boy_ while they're naked in the shower?

And shut the _fuck up,_ Tommy. Why's he gotta go and bring up Harrington's girl? Can't he fuckin' tell they're having a _moment,_ here?

* * *

"Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?"

"It's me; don't cream your pants."

God, if Billy wasn't fucking _livid,_ wasn't ready to tear into someone and beat the shit outta them, pissed as all hell at Maxine and Susan and Neil and Hawkins, Billy would appreciate the way that Harrington isn't looking away from him, is meeting him blow for blow. Practically flirting back, _finally._

But Billy's had his dad push him around and call him a faggot, had to track fucking Maxine all over the damn town, had to flirt with one of Hawkins' desperate neglected wives twice his age, had to fuckin' find Harrington with the group of kids at this fucking nut house, had to find that one kid that Maxine isn't supposed to be fucking near.

_Respect and responsibility._

So Billy kicks the shit outta Steve, gets Steve to punch him back, smashes a plate against his head. Tommy is right, Steve's so fucking dumb, _nobody_ messes with Billy Hargrove. Pounds his fists again and again and again into Harrington's face, the one that morphs into Neil's so goddamn fast, he's looking right at his future, that Billy can't fucking _stop._ Doesn't _want_ to stop until Steve-Neil-Billy's _dead.  
_

Then Maxine sticks him with a needle full of some fucked up shit, and nearly takes off his balls with some fucked up _bat,_ and Billy's fucking _done,_ okay? He's fucking _exhausted._ He's lived on edge around his dad since his mom left, been running on fury, hatred, and violence ever since they moved to this shit-town. He can't take it any more. Feels his chest deflate of all the anger, turning brittle. Passes out. _  
_

Then he wakes up alone, opens the fridge in this creepy-ass house for anything to drink, and curses Maxine all over again.

* * *

"You shoulda finished him off," Tommy says lowly, staring after Harrington who slips from the locker room into the gym.

Jesus, what the _fuck_ is wrong with him? Now that he's exhausted his ire, running on fumes, Billy doesn't have time for Tommy's bullshit any more. Billy's still having fucking nightmares a week after, wakes up with his hands shaking, thinking they're covered in Harrington's blood, sees Harrington's dead body on the floor. Tommy's got no idea what it's like to nearly kill someone, let alone someone who used to be your best friend. He's fucked up.

Billy sneers, pulling his shoelaces tight. "Finish him off yourself, fag." He stands up and slams his locker shut, stalking after Steve.

* * *

Billy and Harrington both avoid each other like the plague. Billy ignores Maxine, definitely does not think about that fucking thing he found in the hell-house fridge, and checks the fuck out.

Then enough is enough, his anger is pretty much gone but something is itching in its place, and Billy needs some fuckin' answers here, because Maxine just fuckin' sneers at him and walks away whenever he tries to talk, so he corners Harrington the first day back in January.

"You and I are gonna have a little conversation, Harrington," Billy says, slamming Harrington up against the lockers.

Harrington frowns at him, pretty little doe-eyes looking exhausted even after nearly a month of break. Billy wants to _bite_ him, mark him up, get Harrington's blood boiling like that night. Wants Harrington to look at Billy and feel the same electricity Billy feels looking at him, instead of the tired wariness.

And then Harrington says something so fucked up, even though Billy kinda expects it. _  
_

"There's monsters in Hawkins. Wanna help me kill them?"

* * *

Harrington's pretty as all fuck, but holy _shit_ is he a pedantic asshole.

"Apologize to me, _Billy,_ get your temper under control, _Billy,_ apologize to Max, _Billy,_ don't be such a racist, _Billy,_ tell Max your dad's a fucking asshole, _Billy,"_ Billy mimics nasally to himself, locked inside his room, laying on his bed, smoking a cigarette. Who the fuck does Harrington think he is? "What's next, apologize to my kids, _Billy?_ Jesus, _fuck."_

Okay, so Harrington didn't ask for an apology, but it was definitely fucking needed if Billy wanted Harrington to ever look at him again.

And Max... well, he's still pissed at Max for the shit back home. But when she got in the car this afternoon, Billy took a look at her wrist. It's not bruised, not today, but Billy remembers sitting in the Camaro, yanking at her so she'd fucking _listen_ for once. So many times. Way too many times.

Max pisses him off, but. He doesn't want to be like his dad.

* * *

"We gotta talk, Maxine," Billy says. They're sitting in the Camaro, got to school early, so Billy could fucking psych himself up for this.

Max's lip curls. "About what?"

"About you, and me, and—" Billy stops. "And that night." Not fuckin' Neil yet.

"Oh, you mean the night you nearly _killed_ Steve, and I kicked your _ass?"_ Max snarls at him.

"Yeah, _that_ night," Billy snarls back. "Harrington told me about the monsters, okay? I saw it in the fucking fridge."

Max's eyes widen like a cartoon character. "He _told_ you? What the _hell?"_

"Jesus, Maxine, you shot me up with some giant fuckin' needle, threatened my balls with that fuckin' bat, _stole_ my fucking _car,_ and left me to wake up in that murder house with a monster in the fridge, and you didn't think I was gonna have some questions? Did you think we were all just gonna ignore it until we woke up, and suddenly it's summer, like all that shit didn't happen?"

Max shrugs. 

"Yeah, _no,"_ Billy snaps. "I know. So we gotta talk."

Max crosses her arms and stares out the passenger window. "What's there to talk about? So you know. Who cares."

_"I_ care. _I'm_ in charge of your fucking ass, and you think you can just go off with your geek friends and chase after monsters?"

"You don't care about _me_ , you just care about _controlling_ me!" Max shouts.

_"Yeah,_ you know what, _Maxine,_ I _don't_ care about you, but I care about _me,_ and I'm sick of getting in trouble because _you_ can't follow some _simple fucking rules!"_ Billy shouts right back. Fuck, they can never have a conversation without it devolving into a screaming match in Hawkins. Why the _fuck_ did he listen to Harrington?

"Fuck your _rules!_ I don't _care_ that you hate black people, and I don't _care_ that you hate me, and I don't _care_ that your dad hates you!"

"You're so fucking _stupid_ Maxine, you think I hate black people? You haven't ever heard what my dad has to say about them! Why do you _think_ I'm always telling you not to hang around Sinclair? You think I get any say about the rules in this house? I couldn't give a _shit_ what you do Maxine, but one day Neil's gonna find out, and he's gonna light Sinclair's house on fire with his whole _black_ family inside, slice out your _guts_ in front of your mom, and make _me_ take responsibility for it all!"

"I _hate_ you!" Max screeches, finally turning to look at him.

"Well I fucking hate you, too! But I'm _sick_ of Neil beating the shit outta me, so it would be fucking great if you could cooperate for once in your goddamn life!"

"Well _I'm_ sick of you _grabbing_ me all the time, so maybe someone oughta beat the shit outta you once in a while!" Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ why did she have to _remind_ him—

"Christ, I'm fucking _sorry_ for bruising your _wrist_ up, _Maxine,_ but try having your _dad_ break your fucking _ribs_ sometime, and come cry to me about it then!"

Both of them are hyperventilating from howling at each other, and Billy's pretty sure that Max isn't the only one in the car starting to tear up.

"Did you just say _sorry_ to me?" Max says eventually, sniffing. _"Screaming_ at me, like an _asshole?_ You think _that's_ an apology?"

"Jesus _Christ,_ Maxine," Billy chokes out. He knows it's not. Doesn't know how to say sorry, really, when he's still so fuckin' pissed at her and Neil and the whole fuckin' situation. Doesn't really want to say it, wants Max to fuckin' apologize and grovel and beg for Billy's forgiveness, instead. He knows Max won't ever do that. Knows after all the shit he's done to her, he doesn't fucking deserve it. "I'm _sorry._ Are you fucking _getting_ it, now?"

"I'm _sick_ of fighting with you all the time," Max sniffs again, voice tight. Fuck, she really might start crying. "I'm _sick_ of hating you, and you hating me. I'm _sick_ of that stupid house and this _stupid_ town and your _stupid_ dad. And my stupid _mom,_ who just pretends everything's okay, and it's _not._ I'm _tired,_ and I wanna go fucking _home."_

"Yeah," Billy swallows heavily. Wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket real quick. "Yeah, me too."

They sit in silence in the Camaro for a bit, both taking huge breaths, trying to calm the fuck down. "He really break your ribs?" Max asks quietly, looking straight at him, looking for any hint of a lie. 

_ She's fought monsters, okay, she'll believe you. That's why I told you. Fight 'em together._

"Max, I'm gonna tell you some shit, all right? And I _need_ you to fucking listen. _Please."_

"...okay."

* * *

Billy's relaxes on the court a little, takes it easier on Steve, gets a little more aggressive with Hagan. Knocks him on his ass. It's not as fun as hounding Steve, but man does Hagan fucking deserve to get pushed down a shitton. Playing with Steve is better, too, because Steve actually fucking pays attention to him, seems like he even looks forward to playing with Billy. They practically have _fun_ on the court. It's kinda wild, feeling a bit of happiness in Hawkins.

Billy starts dragging Steve outside to smoke during lunch. Like fuck is he letting Steve sit with the chick that broke his heart and cheated on him with the ugliest motherfucker in this town. It's fucking freezing outside, but someone's gotta make Steve get his balls back. Billy's got plans for when Steve finally succumbs to the sexual tension between them.

"I told her."

"Told who what?" Billy nearly rolls his eyes. Jesus, Harrington, you're not just a pretty face, come _on._

"Maxine. I told her."

Steve blinks, all pretty brown eyes, looking insultingly surprised. "You— you told her? Like about your dad, and stuff?"

"And _stuff,"_ Billy mimics nasally. God, he can't believe he likes this guy.

"Holy shit— that's great, how'd she take it?"

Billy shrugs. "Said it made sense. I dunno. We kinda settled on a truce." Had a fuckin' screaming match about it, first. But life in the Hargrove-Mayfield house has been easier, now that Max and Billy aren't actively trying to sabotage each other.

"That's great, Billy!" Steve gushes. "Now you just gotta apologize to the kids!"

_"What?"_ Billy laughs. Did he fuckin' call it, or what? "Are you fuckin' kidding me, Harrington?"

"You wanna be friends or not, _Hargrove?"_ Steve presses. "'cause remember, I have that _sticking point,_ about the kids—"

"Jesus, fuck, okay," Billy snarls. "Get off my dick about it, _Steve."_

_ Or get on it for some other reason. _

"Look," Steve says seriously. "I was a total asshole before this past year. I get that it's shit, trying to undo all the garbage in your life. But if you really wanna be friends, we can do that." Steve straightens up, looks him right in the eyes, challenging. Billy practically salivates, licks his lips. He _lives_ for the times when Steve's focus is all on him. "I'm still an asshole, to be honest. But those kids mean something to me, all right? You can beat the shit outta me all you want if you don't want to be friends, but you leave the kids alone. They're my _line,_ okay, and just because you won that fight, doesn't mean that I won't get back up again and protect them. I'm still _here,_ you didn't _finish_ me. Got it?"

Billy nods, struck by the fire in Harrington's eyes. Could watch him light up like that all day, every day. Kinda wants to start a fight with him again. "Yeah, I got you, Harrington."

Steve shrugs, dropping the seriousness, turning into some sort of misleading floppy puppy. Smiles, easy as anything, sweet, gorgeous. He's gonna ruin Billy's life. _Fuck._ "Call me Steve, you asshole."

* * *

"Where the fuck are your parents?"

Hagan had whined non-stop about how Steve was left all alone in his giant mansion, but Billy always thought he was exaggerating. Apparently they haven't been home in weeks, though.

Steve shrugs. "Chicago, right now. I think."

"You _think?"_ Billy repeats dryly. Christ, what he wouldn't give to have Neil gone for any length of time.

Yeah, Steve's spoiled. He's a good guy, though. Forgave Billy for nearly killing him. Fuck, Billy probably knocked out Steve's remaining braincells, and that's why Steve's invited him over, because he can't tell good from bad.

He can tell Steve's avoiding saying something, though. Smile a little tighter, words a little strained. Most people might not notice it, but.

Billy practically _lives_ to stare at Steve Harrington.

Months ago, if Billy were in this position, still raging from the beating his dad gave him and Max's stupidity and having to move to Hawkins, Billy absolutely would have gone in for the kill. Would have called Steve a lonely pathetic rich boy, chewed him up and spit him out. Pulled out all his sad little secrets and used them to hurt him, just to get Steve to pay attention.

"Wanna order pizza? Normally I'd cook, but I'm lazy."

Steve clearly doesn't want to talk about his parents. Billy can let go of it, for now. Steve's still paying attention to him, after all.

* * *

"Daddy's cutting me off," Steve sighs. "No college, no more free rides."

There it is, again, that tightness in Steve's shoulders, whenever his parents get brought up. Billy would press, but.

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, passing the joint back and forth. Billy blatantly stares at Steve's lips wrapped around the end. God, what he wouldn't give to see them wrapped around his dick. How the fuck does Harrington not notice Billy _staring_ at him all the time? Not notice _Tommy_ staring at him, sad and desperate for Steve to look back?

"Remember when I beat the fuck outta you?"

"Noooo," Steve drawls. "That really happened?"

"What's Hagan's fuckin' deal? He told me I shoulda finished you off."

Steve's heart is breaking all over his face. Fuck, maybe Billy shouldn't have told him that. "Yeah, well."

Billy sits up, narrows his eyes at Steve. "No, seriously, what the fuck? You make all the boys wanna fight and fuck you?"

"You wanna fuck me?" Steve snorts. _Nah, Harrington, I just eye-fuck you all day for no reason._ Jesus.

"Harrington, literally every single girl in this shit-town are cows. You're the hottest fuckin' thing here. What's Hagan's deal? Heard you two were best friends." All true, but Jesus, Billy knows how to handle things better. Knows how to get information without laying down all his cards. Whatever. It's the good weed. Steve's not running away, screaming to the whole town that Billy's a fag, yet.

Steve shrugs. "You really think I'm hot?" What a deflecting little shit. And _obviously._

"Answer the question, _Stevie."_

"Well, my answer depends on yours. If you're just fucking with me, I'd say I have no idea what Tommy's deal is."

"And if I tell you you're the hottest piece of ass in this town?" True. Billy picked him out of a crowded room, without even knowing for sure what King Steve looked like, for a reason.

"Then I'd say that Tommy's been pissed at me since I was fourteen and tried to kiss him."

Oh, fuck _yes._ Billy's luck is _finally_ turning around in this shit-town. _  
_

"Fuckin' _idiot."_ Hagan missed his fuckin' chance. "He had you, and passed you up?"

Billy looks Steve up and down, licks his lips. "Too fuckin' bad for him."

* * *

Billy's gonna fuckin' _blow_ Steve's mind. Like, if Steve's never had gay thoughts before, then he's never gonna have any straight ones after Billy's through with him.

Billy sucks Steve's dick, and renders Steve _boneless._ Yeah, he didn't spend years getting into clubs he was way too young for to suck cock shittily like the Hawkins' cows. Christ, he bets Princess Wheeler never even _tried.  
_

"You're gonna teach me how to do that, right?" Steve asks breathlessly, cuddling up against Billy, sliding his arm over his stomach. God, what a fuckin' mood boost. Hell _yeah,_ Billy's gonna teach Steve how to do that. And he bets Steve is gonna be a fuckin' pro.

"Right now?" Billy smirks, lighting up a cigarette. He's earned the right to be smug. He's gonna ruin girls for Steve for the rest of his life.

"Literally as soon as we both get it up, again," Steve says seriously, stealing the cigarette from him, taking a drag. What a little _brat._

 _"Harrington,"_ Billy laughs. It feels so fuckin' easy to laugh with him. "We are gonna have so much fuckin' _fun."_ He pinches Steve's side, steals the cigarette back from him. _  
_

Steve hides a smile against Billy's shoulder, he can tell. It lights Billy on _fire._

* * *

"You sure?" Billy asks him, eyeing him shrewdly. "It's not for everyone, Stevie."

"Your dick isn't that big," Steve snorts, clearly lying.

"Excuse _you,"_ Billy says. His dick is huge, thanks. "Just because you've got a fuckin' anaconda—"

"You gonna fuck me or what, Hargrove?" Steve challenges. He starts unbuttoning his shirt in the world's worst striptease. "I'm getting _lonely,_ over here—"

"I'll show you fuckin' lonely, you little shit," Billy laughs, and tackles him off the sofa.

Billy makes it good for him, because Billy remembers the vast difference between his first time getting fucked and his second time. Cocksure and drunk, Billy let the first guy that hit on him in the club take him home, and the guy barely knew what he was doing. Didn't care about anything but getting himself off. So before the next time Billy went, he did some fuckin' learning, and straight up asked the next guy that hit on him if he actually knew what to do with his dick, or if he was just looking for a hole. Pissed the guy right off, but the older guy sitting beside Billy at the bar had laughed, bought him a drink, and told him he knew what he was doing, if Billy was interested. And then, yeah, getting fucked was pretty fucking great, and Billy learned how to do it right, too, and that he needed to start using condoms if he wanted to keep clubbing like he was, considering the state of the world, right now.

So Billy pulls out all the stops, all the stupid little tricks he knows. Drags Steve upstairs and gets him into a bed like the gentleman he's never going to be. Remembers a condom only when Steve rolls it on his dick, like an asshole, but fuck, he's trying not to fucking lose it, here, about to fuck the prettiest boy in the goddamn country. Fingers him 'til he cums, 'til Steve's begging for something bigger, for more. Plays the _bite the virgin_ trick on Steve, gets Steve to focus on his bitten bottom lip, rather than the last little push of Billy's cock into him. Steve laughs, groans, smiles at Billy like he knows exactly what he just did, like Steve's pulled that same stunt on all the Hawkins girls he's deflowered.

Focuses on him, gets Steve to cum again before Billy does. Ends up making Steve look up at him like he's a fucking _god._ He's never felt so good, so powerful. _  
_

Steve's a champ, and he can't fucking get enough. _Insatiable slut,_ Billy thinks fondly. _Just like me._

Steve rolls over into Billy's arms after they slump together, nipping at his jaw.

"Again?" Steve asks, hiding a smile against Billy's skin. Cuddling up to Billy, pretending like he doesn't know what he's doing. What a fuckin' _sweetheart._

"You're fuckin' goddamn _right_ we're doing that again," Billy grins back at him. _Goddamn,_ did he call it when he said they were going to have _fun._

* * *

Billy loves fucking out in Steve's backyard. It's nice enough outside now that the pool and heat remind him of home, of partying and hooking up on the beach. God, what Billy wouldn't give to see Steve, sun-kissed and laid out beside Billy on the shores of California.

The past few times, Billy thinks he's seen something moving around in the woods. Thinks for a second that it might be a monster, but Steve's hyper-vigilant about those, and he doesn't make a sound about it. Thinks later it might just be an animal, or one of the kids accidentally showing up and turning around immediately, which is equal parts terrifying and hilarious, but.

Oh, Billy _sees_ him.

Tommy fuckin' Hagan, practically _panting_ with his dick out, coming back night after night to watch Billy fuck Steve.

So Billy plays it up the one night, no stranger to giving people a show. Doesn't mention it to Steve, because Steve doesn't need to spend a second thinking about that asshole, not feeling good. Deserves to be a whining mess, fucked-out and happy.

"You're so fuckin' _pretty,_ baby, drooling for my cock."

"That's it, sweetheart, _choke_ on it, choke like the _slut_ you are."

"You like being my _bitch,_ baby, just bending over for me whenever I want?"

"Show me your tits, sweetheart, gonna make them _red_ and _raw_ so you can't wear a shirt tomorrow without thinkin' about me."

"You take it bare from all the boys, or am I just _special?"_

 _"No one_ in this town could give it to you this good, Stevie."

"Beg for it, baby, beg for my _cum_ in your _cunt."_

"Yeah, that's it, look at your filthy _hole,_ baby. You're so fuckin' _full_ of my cum."

 _"You're_ so filthy," Steve groans when they're finished their first round, slumped on top of him, trying not to laugh, shoulders shaking. True. "Oh, my _God."_

"You're the one who got off on it," Billy grins, nosing at Steve's jaw.

"And you didn't? You just like hearing yourself talk." Also true.

Billy licks sloppily up Steve's neck, bites at his ear. Rubs his hands up and down Steve's spine. Whispers in Steve's ear, "C'mon, Stevie. Let's go inside."

Gotta give Tommy-boy a minute to himself, after all.

* * *

One night, Steve laughs, Steve fuckin' giggles, and says, "Shut up, asshole, I love you." Billy fuckin' chokes, can't even remember what he said seconds before to make Steve say that.

Billy kinda trips over himself though, and Steve tenses, face bright red. Unhappy.

 _Fuck_ that.

So Billy straightens up, nods and smirks, self-assured. "'course you fuckin' do, Stevie."

Doesn't say it back; there's no fucking way he's ready for that. Kinda nervous that he might feel it, though.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. Is he fuckin' _sure?_ Christ al-fuckin'-mighty.

"Will you please," Billy sighs, staring up at the ceiling. He was all fuckin' seductive, and now because Steve's too fuckin' pretty for his own good, Billy's reduced to _this._ "Please, consider, King Steve, porking me with your mighty sword?"

"Okay," Steve chokes out in excitement.

Billy can tell that Steve's pretty sure this _means_ something, because so far, it's always been Billy fucking Steve. Not that it _doesn't_ mean something, but he can tell Steve is blowing it way outta proportion, the way that he stretches out Billy, nice and slow, gentler than the way Billy does for him. _Romantic._

So Billy turns it playful, the way that sex usually is between them, shoves Steve onto his back on the bed and gives him the ride of his life.

"I love you," Steve blurts out, right when it's getting impossibly good, because he's a massive fuckin' cliché. Holy _shit._

Billy stops moving above him, staring intently at him. Feels his heart fuckin' stop, holy shit. Thinks about the time that Steve said it so casually, how different it is this time. Thinks about how he's never happy in Hawkins, unless Steve's right there with him. When Steve's there, sucking out all the poison of the hatred Billy's been running on, settling the prowling animal in his chest with just a _look._  


Billy grins the tiniest bit, looking down at the prettiest boy in the whole goddamn world. The prettiest boy, who's _Billy's._ "'course you fuckin' do, baby. Love you, too." 

Maybe it's fast, and Billy's not entirely sure, but it doesn't feel like a lie. Billy's in Steve's corner, now.  Come hell or high water, Billy's fuckin' stealing Steve Harrington out of Hawkins and taking him _home._

* * *

"What's wrong with you?" Billy says when Steve opens the door. Fuck, by the look on Steve's face, maybe that wasn't the best approach.

Steve shrugs and swallows heavily. "Don't worry about it. Wanna order pizza? I don't feel like cooking." Steve never feels like cooking when he's upset, or avoiding something. And he's—

 _"Jesus,_ you're _crying,_ baby," Billy says, a little stunned. Hagan's always said Steve's a crier, a whiner, but Billy's never really witnessed it before. In fact, Billy might have thought that it was a complete fuckin' _lie,_ because Steve _never_ cries. Steve's smile might get a little brittle, and he might get a little quiet, but outside of _really_ good sex, Billy doesn't think he's ever seen Steve tear up. Fuck, _Billy_ cries more than him.

"Sorry, fuck," Steve mutters, wiping at his eyes.

"No, don't— fuck, are you okay?" Billy cradles Steve's face in his hands, wipes his thumbs under Steve's eyes, catching the tears that slip out.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Steve says tightly, waving it off. He is clearly _not_ fine. Billy's kinda... panicking. 

"Who do I gotta beat up?" Billy asks, only slightly joking. Actually, no, not joking at all. What the _fuck_ happened?

"I—" Steve sighs, looking down, looking away. Billy _hates_ it when Steve doesn't look at him. Steve does it all the time with people, which rankles at Billy, but makes him furious when Steve does it with him, because whatever it is, it means Steve doesn't think it's important, or some bullshit. That he shouldn't bother Billy with it, like it's not Billy's fuckin' mission in life to get rid of anything that makes Steve unhappy. "Can I— can you just—"

"Anything, baby," Billy says immediately.

Steve shuffles closer. Rests his head on Billy's shoulder, grips his lapels tight in his hands. Shudders. Jesus, what the _fuck?_

"This, can you just— do this."

Billy's so fuckin' lost, but he's not stupid and he knows Steve, and Billy can at least wrap his arms around him the way Steve likes, so he does. Runs his hands up and down Steve's back, kisses his stupid hair, cradles his head impossibly closer to him.

Yeah, whatever this is? Billy's gonna fuckin' kill it _dead,_ so Steve doesn't _ever_ look like this again.

* * *

Billy hasn't even bothered looking in Hagan's direction for months. He's a little fuckin' weasel, and a liar, and he thinks he can show up and make Steve cry? _Fuck_ that.

Billy hunts Hagan down under the bleachers just before graduation _._

"We gotta talk about Harrington," Billy says, nice and easy, lighting up a cigarette.

"Steve's so desperate and easy, he'll take anyone's friendship," Hagan sneers. Jesus, Billy hasn't even said anything, and Hagan's already insulting Steve. "He's had a different girl every week since freshman year; don't be so fuckin' surprised when he drops you, too."

Christ, no wonder Steve dropped Hagan and Perkins. They're fuckin' snakes.

"You know what I think, Tommy-boy?" Billy drawls, blowing out a plume of smoke. Gotta stay cool, lull Hagan into a false sense of security. "I think you got a little crush on Stevie, and you're too much of a pussy to do anything about it."

Hagan chokes on his cigarette. "I'm not a fag—"

Billy snorts. Yeah, and Billy's the Queen of England. "Yes, you fuckin' are. Me 'n' Steve fuck each other up the ass, and you're a bigger fag than the both of us put together. I think that you've got a crush on Stevie, Tommy-boy, and you were too stupid to do anything about it, so now you just mope in his backyard and watch us _fuck."_

Hagan looks like a deer in the headlights, his stupid freckled face blanched. "The fuck are you talking about, man?"

"You think I don't know?" Billy laughs, maniacal. Like the fuckin' psycho he used to be. Like the fuckin' psycho he turns into, when something hurts what's his. "You make too much fucking noise jerkin' off in the bushes, _man,_ wishing it were you fucking Steve instead'a me. Lost your fuckin' chance, though."

Then, Billy turns, and punches Hagan right in the fuckin' jaw, lays him right out on the ground. He drops his cigarette on the grass, close to Hagan's head, and crushes it out with his boot. Makes sure to step on Hagan's hair, a little.

"That's your fuckin' warning, Hagan," Billy snarls above him. He kicks Tommy right in the ribs, making him curl up. "You touch him, or make him cry again, and you're _dead."_

* * *

Steve gets a job at Scoops Ahoy, and Billy gets a job lifeguarding at the Hawkins Community Pool, and they both practically loses their minds over each other's uniform shorts.

Other than free ice cream and tight shorts, Steve manages to make a friend his own age. Robin Buckley is a riot. Billy's got a day off and spends it outside smoking weed with Steve and Robin during a slow shift, can't believe it took the three of them this long to hang out.

"Dig the tits on your shoes, Buckley," Billy drawls, right as she's inhaling, because he's an asshole.

Robin chokes and goes bright fuckin' red. Steve looks confused. Jesus, Steve's been working with a lesbian for months now, and he didn't know? Her sexuality is literally written all over her shoes. Billy picked it out as soon as Robin kicked up her feet.

 _Baby, you're lucky you're so pretty and good with a bat,_ Billy thinks fondly. Steve's good at people, and details, but never both at the same time.

* * *

Billy watches Steve sit beside Hagan like a hawk. He can't tell what they're saying, but Billy's pretty sure that Steve's being his usual forgiving self, and Hagan's being his usual closeted self, dropping that word that Billy and Steve and Robin all hate.

Billy nearly bolts across the street when Hagan grabs Steve by the wrist, but Steve stops him with a look. Fuck, is he whipped. Billy doesn't sit down again, though, chain smokes through near an entire pack, watching this shit, unable to be beside Steve.

Then Hagan's shouting, breaking just like Billy knew he would. "Shut the fuck up, man!" Hagan yells, shoving at Steve. Okay, that's _enough._

Billy's across the street in an instant, grabbing Hagan's arm and twisting it behind him.

"Didn't I fuckin' tell you, Hagan," Billy snarls in his ear, "that you fuckin' touch him, and you're dead?"

"Billy," Steve warns. "Let's just go. Tommy and I are done."

"Got a new attack dog, Stevie?" 

"You're goddamn right," Billy growls, grinning. Yeah, he likes that idea.

"Billy," Steve says quietly. _Heel, boy,_ Steve might as well be saying.

Billy snorts, lets Hagan go with a shove onto his knees.

"Adam wanted me to give you his number," Hagan says dully. Who the fuck is Adam? "So you two can fag it up together in Chicago."

Steve furrows his brow. "I—" Okay, no, you know what, it doesn't fucking matter.

"Leave it, Stevie," Billy says, cutting Steve off. Whatever it is, Hagan's _done_ making Steve cry. "Drop it in the fuckin' mailbox, or something, Hagan, because this shit? It's fucking _over."_

Steve's got Billy, now. Got his whole Party, and Robin, and even Nancy and Jonathan, no matter how much those two annoy Billy. He doesn't need Tommy Hagan. 

Stevie's gonna be just fine, as long as Billy has anything to say about it.

* * *

Billy takes Steve home, to California. Feels something settle in his chest, sitting on the beach, seeing Steve's eyes light up, watching the colors of the sunset wash over his face.

"You look real at home, sweetheart. California looks good on you."

"Yeah?" Steve grins at him, eyes sparkling. "You, too."

All right. That's enough sap. Steve's the fucking romantic in this relationship, not Billy.

Billy picks Steve up and chucks him into the ocean, clothes and all, and dives in after him.

_Welcome home, sweetheart._

**Author's Note:**

> is it finished? who knows. i'd like to write more about billy&max and steve&dustin sibling interaction. but this needs to come out of my drafts.
> 
> let me know what u think. thx for reading <3


End file.
